


Paper Towels + Duct Tape + H2O2

by impossiblepluto



Category: MacGyver (TV 2016)
Genre: Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Whump, Whump Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-25
Updated: 2019-06-25
Packaged: 2020-05-19 04:52:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19349863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/impossiblepluto/pseuds/impossiblepluto
Summary: While waiting for ex-fil, Jack takes care of Mac





	Paper Towels + Duct Tape + H2O2

**Author's Note:**

> Tumblr whump prompt: "Alright, let’s see what we have to play doctor with…paper towels, expired peroxide and…duct tape?"
> 
> Just a little whump without plot

"This doesn't look promising," Mac says taking in the graffiti-covered, plywood-shuttered windows and doors. Clearly, the boards were pulled off regularly to allow access into the sagging house. "You sure this is it?"

"This was it. Obviously, it hasn't been a safe house for a while," Jack replies, rubbing his free hand across his mouth, the way he does when he's stressed.

The wind is picking up. The light snow flurries swirling around them and gaining in numbers and speed. Mac shivers deeper into his jacket.

Jack hoists Mac upright; his partner is doing his own impression of the sagging house. He tries to ignore Mac's groan of pain at the motion. "Hold on, just a little longer, bud," Jack encourages, pushing through the gate of the rusty chainlink fence surrounding the property.

The porch creaks ominously as they ascend the steps. The wood moans against their weight, and Mac can't bite back his own echoing moan at the motion of ascending the stairs. His fingers curl even tighter against Jack's coat.

Jack tightens his grip, hauling him across the porch. Propping Mac up against the side of the house, Jack splinters the door with a solid kick. "Let me clear the place, make sure no one's using it as a flophouse," Jack says.

Mac's eyes are closed and his breathing shallow and labored.

Jack gently pats Mac's face, looking for a response. His mouth in a tight frown, noting the sheen of sweat on Mac's brow despite the chill in the air.

"I hear you," Mac grumbles, not opening his eyes.

"Eyes opened, bud, until I get you inside," Jack says, gently patting Mac's cheek again. "Keep an eye out."

Pained blue eyes open and Mac nods.

Empty bottles, piles of trash, a dirty mattress full of holes cover the floor. At least the place is abandoned and looks to have been for some time. He systematically clears each room, cataloging resources as he goes. There aren't many. At least in his mind. Mac could probably build them a plane with the things left behind. Jack steps back outside again.

Mac is squinting, frowning as snowflakes dust his eyelashes. "I'm awake," he quickly reassures when he sees Jack.

"Good job, buddy. Let's get you inside now." He doesn't dare put Mac on the dirty mattress or the fleabitten couch. Kitchen table it is then. He lowers Mac to sit on the edge.

No electricity. No running water. No phones. Weak comm signal. Ex-fil is coming, Jack hopes. The crackling signal faded in and out, but between Matty and Riley enough of the message got through. It sounded like they're on their own for at least the next four hours. Mac can't wait that long for help.

"You still keeping pressure on that?" Jack asks as he moves about the kitchen.

Mac pushes harder against his wound, a groan escapes his lips. "Yeah," he pants.

"Gotta warm it up in here a little before I start stripping off your clothes."

A wood burning stove sits near the table. A quick check of the baffle and flue collar, and it doesn't look like it will smoke them out, or burn down the house. Jack slams a rickety kitchen chair against the wall, smashing it into kindling. As he builds up a fire he glances back towards Mac. His partner's eyes are closed and he's breathing shallowly against the pain.

"Kind of reminds me of that time at the Ranch when that storm blew up and we had to spend the night in that old line shack," Jack says. His goal to keep Mac awake and talking.

Mac grunts. "Your mom was really upset."

Jack chuckles. "Yeah, I got an earful about how I should know better than to take you out on a trail ride when you've only got stitches and skin glue holding you together."

Mac gives a shy smile as his blue irises appear. "She was worried."

"And you played into it. Letting her fuss over ya while she was scolding me the whole time," Jack can't keep the affection out of his voice. He remembers vividly, the look on Mac's face. Surprise at the way Jack's mama was fussing, a flash of discomfort and embarrassment at being the center of her nurturing attention. How she and Jack bundled him into the guest bed, sniping affectionately at each other as they looked after the boy they both not so secretly adopted. Then after a few minutes, when Mac sank back and relaxed into their ministrations, Jack realized it had been over fifteen years since Mac had his mother fussing over him, and while Annie Dalton didn't know much about Mac's history, she was perceptive enough to recognize what Mac needed.

"You were fine, told her you were fine, but she still got ol' Doc Bauer to come out to the house to take a look at ya. He was ancient when I was a kid!"

"At least you come by your overprotective, mother-henning tendencies honestly. I tell you I'm fine all the time and you still want to check me over after missions."

"I do it because if I don't you'll be lying to me and saying you're fine when you've really got a six inch gash in your side," Jack says, gesturing at his partner, sitting on the table, blood leaking through frozen fingers.

"I was going to tell you, as soon as I caught my breath," Mac protests.

Jack snorts in disbelief as he stands, content with the fire burning in the stove.  "Alright, let’s see what we have to play doctor with…paper towels, expired peroxide and…duct tape?" He rummages through the cabinets. Returning to Mac's side, he sets down the bottle of peroxide, discouraged.

"If the seal isn't broken, peroxide is good for about three years."

"Of course it is," Jack replies, mentally marveling at the facts Mac has stored in his head, while acting unimpressed with the information. He squints at the bottle's expiration date again.

"Hydrogen peroxide decomposes into oxygen and water, so if it has degraded, it's still water, and cleaner than anything else around here."

"Shush, I'm busy being you."

"But, you're not supposed to use peroxide on a wound, damages the surrounding tissue," Mac continues, ignoring Jack.

"Since when?"

Mac shrugs and the winces. "Since always?" He notices the guilty look on Jack's face, and knows he's remembering another mission where he used peroxide to scrub out a dirty, pus-filled wound. "But ex-fil's hours out and the risk for infection goes up with delays in cleaning and treatment. I don't think you're going to find any yarrow around here, not with the snow picking up."

"I don't want to hurt you."

"Has to be done," Mac says simply. "Better a little soft tissue damage than going septic from an infection."

Jack shakes his head. "Always here with the bright side, aren't ya, hoss?" He unzips Mac's coat, pushing the two sides out of the way, but keeping it on, for warmth, at least until he can get a better look at they're dealing with. He bats away Mac's hands that clumsily try to help with the buttons on his shirt.

"I got it, kid. Hey, I got it. Let me do all the work. I usually do anyway." Jack peels back the plaid shirt, revealing a henley, sodden with blood. Pulling away the waffle-style material reveals a tank under that. "All these layers and not one of them is kevlar?"

"Knife wound. Kevlar wouldn't stop it anyway."

"And you haven't invented a material that's bullet and knife proof yet?"

"Not with any type of maneuverability."

The wound is long, shallow where it skittered across Mac's ribs and down his side. He'd dodged most of it. Or so Jack had thought at the time. Seeing the kid jump away and keep fighting. It wasn't until after, mid telling of some stupid joke, a pun that he can't remember now, that he saw the knife on the ground, wet and crimson, that he realized Mac wasn't doubled over catching his breath. The wound widens near Mac's hip, sunk deep into flesh and muscle. It's still oozing.

Jack probes at the wound. Mac leans his head against Jack's shoulder, breathing through the pain that Jack's palpating fingers cause. His breath warm against Jack's chest. His fingers grip the edge of the table to keep him sitting upright.

After a minute Jack stops, one hand cups the back of Mac's neck. He waits until Mac's breathing quiets. "Let's get you laying back, hoss. It's gonna be easier to clean it out."

Mac allows Jack to assist him in reclining on the table, the motion pulling at the edges of the deep cut, stretching the muscles underneath.

Jack pulls Mac's many layers up, further out of the way, exposing the wound entirely, and attempting to keep those layers dry. Mac will need the warmth when Jack's done. He packs a few sheets of paper towels under Mac, then uncaps the bottle and breaks the seal.

"You sure about this? I don't want to mess things up more."

Mac lets out a breath. "Just do it."

Jack winces. "This is gonna suck, dude."

Mac snorts.

The effects of peroxide on the wound is instantaneous, and confirms Mac's facts about the liquid's shelf life. Mac's jaw snaps shut, gritting his teeth against the onslaught of burning pain. Hands fisted, one pressed against his mouth to keep from crying out. His ragged breathing harsh, eyes squeezed shut.

Jack tries to shut out Mac's gasps of pain, as they claw at his heart. Jack has always tried to do everything possible to ease the kid's pain. It physically hurts him to be causing it, even when he knows it's necessary.

Mac's hand clasps Jack's wrist, and Jack worries the pain is too much and the kid is going to try to fight him. He doesn't, just hangs on tight.

"Almost done," Jack murmurs. Not sure if the words are to comfort Mac or himself. He uses the whole bottle, slowly pouring the liquid over every inch of the cut, focusing on the deepest part of the wound, making sure the liquid penetrates deeply into the cut. He can't take any chances. Not with Mac. Not when medical help is a long way off.

It takes a minute for Mac to relax after Jack tosses the bottle aside. His ragged breathing slowing, and his grip on Jack relaxes.

"Hey bud, I'm going to try to make a pressure dressing out of the paper towels and duct tape."

Mac nods, not trusting his voice yet.

Mac's eyes are still closed but Jack can see tears leaking out of the corners. He cups his hand around Mac's face, thumbs brushing at the tear tracks, allowing a moment of comfort before he starts causing pain to his partner again.

"I'm okay," Mac whispers after a minute. "Gotta stop the bleeding."

"Hopefully, this sucks a little less than the peroxide."

Mac huffs. He reaches out and grasps the edges of the table. "I'm ready."

Jack unfurls the roll and cuts the paper towels into one long strip that he feeds into the deepest parts of the wound, knowing that it will be easier to pull it out once they get to medical and not leave anything behind, stuck in the depths of the wound. One hand resting against Mac's abdomen, offering comfort as he works. He can feel the muscles tightening, fluttering with pain. As soon as he finishes, secures the makeshift dressing with tape to keep pressure on the wound, Mac pulls his legs towards his chest, curling up against the pain.

"You hurtin' anywhere else?" Jack's hands run down Mac's arms in turn.

Mac shakes his head. "That's the only place they got me."

"That was more than enough."

Jack stokes the fire again, building it up as high as he dares. While his cursory check didn't reveal any obvious dangers, he's still uncomfortable using a stove that hasn't been maintained in years. He pulls off his jacket and drapes it across Mac, then settles in behind Mac on the table, pulling the kid up against his chest for warmth and comfort, arms holding him loosely. His gun settled on the table next to him in easy reach, just in case. He glances at his watch.  

Ex-fil arrives three hours and seven minutes later, not long after Mac's shivering starts up again. Despite Jack wrapped around him like a blanket, the stove warming the room, Jack can feel the trembles coursing through Mac's muscles. Little gasps of pain as the motion pulls against the edges of the wound and abused skin. Jack's hand brushes against Mac's forehead, feeling for fever that's brewing.

Jack's relief at ex-fil's arrival is tempered by the fact that they'll have to move Mac from the warm kitchen, outside into the elements to reach the chopper. Its started to snow in earnest now. Jack scoops Mac into his arms bridal style, despite Mac's protests that he can walk. The first blast of arctic air has Mac burrowing deeper into Jack's arms. It cuts like a knife through layers of clothes, and he's grateful, though he won't admit it, that Jack is more stubborn than he is, especially about things like his health.

Inside the helicopter, Jack settles Mac back against his chest again and tucks the Mylar blanket around him. The first aid kit is limited, and there's not much more Jack can do for him until they reach Medical. Can't even offer him water, as much as he wants to start replenishing the fluids leaking from Mac's side, just in case there's something wrong they don't know about yet. One hand resting against Mac's forehead gauging his fever. He rubs his other hand along Mac's arm and across his chest to warm him and provide comfort.

There's a flutter of activity, that follows whenever they arrive in Phoenix Med.

"When I say you're my favorite agent, it doesn't mean I want to see you here," Reese, former Navy corpsman and current Phoenix nurse, whispers to her patient. She turns his head gently and sticks a tympanic thermometer in his ear. "Hold still," she requests as the probe takes a reading.

"You'd worry about me if you didn't see me regularly," Mac teases.

She wraps a blood pressure cuff around his arm. "Smart guy like you could probably figure out some other ways to catch up. Smoke signals or something let me know you're okay. Or take me to dinner."

Mac glances up at her slyly. "I think the doc might have something to say about that. I'm here enough that I have to stay on his good side."

She declines to confirm or deny his insinuation, ignoring his raised eyebrows, instead focuses on starting an IV in her favorite vein in his forearm, collects a few colorful vacutainers of blood and cultures before hooking him to some IV fluids, and y-siting in a broad-spectrum antibiotic drip.

Dr. McClain, yes Jack's already made every Die Hard joke imaginable, even though it's not spelled the same, is on staff tonight. The "MacGyver" of Phoenix Medical with his unorthodox approach to medicine, stemming from his military background, and his extensive fields of study. Jack sort of imagines this is how Mac would practice medicine, if he'd had an interest in biology rather than chemistry and physics, and shaved his head.

He pulls up a rolling stool to sit at Mac's side working on loosening the dressing holding his insides in place. Reese stands by with syringes of saline and antibiotics, ready to irrigate the wound, and fresh bandages, wordlessly handing him what he needs before he asks.

Jack stands across the table, staying out of the way. His hands resting on Mac's shoulder.

"Nice job on the dressing," Dr. McClain compliments, as he gets a look at the wound for the first time. "This is pretty deep. Mac would have been in trouble if you hadn't been able to staunch the bleeding."

"Could have done a better job cleaning it out," Jack berates himself.

"Nah, not with just a bottle of peroxide and paper towels," McClain says.

"He's got a fever."

"I'd be surprised if he didn't with as deep as this is. Who knows what was on that knife, going through layers of clothes, and all of that getting pushed inside."

Mac flinches against the doctor probing the wound, using a cotton-tipped applicator to measure the depth.

"Sorry, Mac," McClain apologizes. He stands, pulling his stethoscope from around his neck and listening intently to Mac's abdomen, then palpates watching Mac's face for signs of discomfort, hands moving systematically across his belly, then reaching to examine his back beneath the wound. "Bowel sounds are active, and I'm not feeling any distention. Let's get some imaging, make sure the knife didn't nick anything, especially since he's got a fever. Then if everything looks we'll get you numbed up, give it another good cleaning before we close you up. You're probably still going to feel it though."

"'ts fine," Mac mumbles. "I already feel it. Just want it done."

It doesn't take long for the imaging to confirm that there isn't another hidden source of infection.

Despite the lidocaine Jack watched them injected into the wound, it hurts. The numbing agent really only working on the superficial layers of the wound and wearing off too quickly. Jack can see it in the lines of tension across Mac's face, the way his eyes clench shut and his jaw tightens. Jack holds Mac's hands, trying to offer comfort, and Mac gives a bone-crunching squeeze whenever the doctor hits a particularly painful area.

It's a deep, long wound. Cleaning and closing it takes time. It's going to leave an impressive scar. Mac isn't sure if he's sweating from fever or the tension when they're finally done. To his disappointment, Dr. McClain squashes his unspoken plans to go home, declaring he wants Mac to receive a few more doses of IV antibiotics, another liter of fluid and keep an eye on his fever at least overnight, before they release him.

Mac is soon settled into a room, and Jack into the chair next to him, kicking out the footrest and leaning back.

"Oh, boy kid, I am beat." He clicks on the television, turning the volume on low. "You think Bozer will bring us something to eat if we ask nicely. I bet he will if we send him a picture of you laying there lookin' miserable." Jack pulls out his phone. "Not that miserable, or he'll be rushing here in a panic." Jack lowers the phone, his teasing tone and smile shoved aside by concern. "You okay, kid?"

Mac nods.

"You hurtin'? You need me to get Reese?"

"No, I'm alright."

Jack's out of the chair, hand resting against Mac's face a moment later. It doesn't feel warmer than before, and Mac doesn't look like he's in physical pain. "I'm getting worried here, bud."

"I just don't want you to feel like you have to stay here."

Jack raises an eyebrow, turning back and settling in his chair again. "But you're here, hoss. So where else would I be?"

 

 


End file.
